


A Good Reason Not to Smoke

by HipHopAnonymous



Series: Brother Mine [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brother Feels, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Kid Sherlock, Non-Consensual Spanking, Over the Knee, Punishment, Sherlock is a Brat, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipHopAnonymous/pseuds/HipHopAnonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock just wants to try smoking cigarettes like his big brother. Unfortunately (or fortunately!), Mycroft catches him in the act and is less than pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Reason Not to Smoke

Mummy and Daddy wouldn’t be home for hours, but Sherlock still crept quietly around the side of the house, looking back over his shoulder every now and then, just in case. He hadn’t even taken the time to change out of his First Form uniform. He clutched the matchbook he had snatched from the kitchen in his clammy fist. When he was finally safely hidden behind the shed in the backyard, he pulled three cigarettes from the pockets of his wrinkled trousers and studied them carefully. 

It had taken several days of trading his lunches and an entire two week’s worth of pocket money, but finally the other boy had taken the trade. His name had been Bobby or Billy or something equally boring and unimportant. The important thing was that Sherlock had those three cigarettes in his possession at last.

He needed three, because smoking one wouldn’t give him nearly enough data. He understood that one’s first cigarette was typically extremely unpleasant, and that would surely skew the results. Sherlock needed three at the very least to become skilled enough in the art of smoking to be able to monitor his reactions – blood pressure, appetite, mental clarity and focus, for a start.

Sherlock had become fixated on the idea of trying a fag several months ago; soon after seeing Mycroft with a cigarette between his fingers, blowing smoke like a movie star. Mycroft had been home from University looking all grown up and worldly. Far too cool and adult to play games with Sherlock like he always used to when he still lived at home.

Mummy had been furious about the cigarette. She had smacked Mycroft on the back of the head and screeched at him about the dangers of smoking, but, of course, Sherlock’s brother, genius that he was, had an answer for everything and touted the personal benefits he had enjoyed since taking up the habit. To be fair, he _had_ lost weight since he’d gone away.

 _Fascinating._ Mummy’s visceral reaction was why Sherlock was currently being careful to hide what he was doing. If she “didn’t want to see a son of hers smoking” then that obviously included Sherlock, as well.

Sherlock loosened his tie and took a deep breath before placing the first cigarette between his lips and striking a match. The first inhalation burned his throat. He gagged, coughed, and sputtered, eyes watering. After several more painful tries, though, he was finally able to take a sufficient drag. He still felt a bit sick to his stomach, but his discomfort was outweighed by the thrill of success. Sherlock tried to emulate the way he’d seen Mycroft hold the cigarette, and for a moment, he felt rather grown up indeed. Maybe he could join his brother for a smoke the next time he visited. Maybe – 

“ _Sherlock_!”

His heart leapt in his throat and he choked on the drag he had been taking. Dropping the cigarette, he whirled around to face – 

“M-Mycroft?”

“Sherlock, _what_ do you think you are doing?” 

His brother looked furious. It didn’t make any sense. Mycroft wasn’t supposed to be home, was he? Sherlock quickly placed his foot on top of the still burning fag to put it out; as if it weren't too late to hide the evidence.

“What –” Sherlock’s voice squeaked with nerves, and he swallowed, trying to stay calm, as if nothing at all were amiss. “What are you doing home?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Mother’s Day, Sherlock. Did you forget?”

He had, of course. It wasn’t a real holiday anyway, but that _did_ explain Mycroft’s ill-timed presence. Sherlock shrugged.

“More importantly, little brother,” Mycroft continued, voice dripping with disappointment, “Are you _smoking_?”

“No!” his face flushed at the obvious lie. “Well, I mean – it wasn’t my – I’ve never – I …”

“Where did you get that cigarette?”

“Um, a boy at school.”

Mycroft sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re so lucky mummy isn’t home to see this.”

“Y-you aren’t going to tell her?”

“It would break her heart, Sherlock, you’re only twelve! Jesus.”

 _Only!_ Suddenly, he felt like a very little boy, and he had just been feeling so grown up before Mycroft came along to spoil everything.

“No, Sherlock,” My croft said, “I think we can handle this just between the two of us. No need to unnecessarily upset our parents, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sherlock nodded his head vigorously.

“All right then, tell me – do you have any more cigarettes other than that one?”

Sherlock hesitated, and it was all Mycroft needed to see.

“Empty your pockets, then. Three? Is that all you had? I swear, Sherlock, if I find more, you will be one sorry little boy.”

“There aren’t any more! I promise!” As he handed over the contraband, Sherlock began to feel uneasy. It was strange that Mycroft would agree to keep this a secret from their parents – especially when he was clearly so angry about it. Sherlock was not entirely sure what his brother was planning on doing, but he had a strong notion.

“Ok, let’s get this over with.” 

Mycroft pushed up the sleeves of his jumper and placed a firm hand on the back of Sherlock’s neck. He guided his younger brother to a decorative bench in the garden where he sat down and looked up expectantly. Sherlock shuffled his feet, averting his gaze to look anywhere and everywhere except Mycroft’s face.

“Oh, come on, Sherlock. Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. You know very well what I’m about to do, don’t you?”

 _He knew it._ “Mycroft, _please_!”

“Hush now, brother mine. You know very well you shouldn’t be smoking; otherwise, you wouldn’t have sneaked around the house like a criminal and hidden behind the shed to do so. Yes, I saw you. And now I’m going to give you a good reason not to smoke in the future!”

Through the years, their mother had given both of them a “good reason” not to do a lot of things – a “good reason” not to fight, a “good reason” not to curse, and a “good reason” not to lie – and the “good reason” was always a sore, red bottom.

All of Sherlock’s plans of looking cool in front of his big brother were quashed in an instant. Mycroft might still consider him a child, but he wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

“Please, Mycroft,” he tried to keep his voice steady, wanting to sound far too mature to be taken across his brother’s knee like a baby. “I’m too old.”

“You most certainly are not. You will always be my little brother, and so it will always be my responsibility to look after you. And if that means giving you a good smacking when you need it, then I will do just that. Now, let’s get those slacks down.”

Sherlock blanched. It was one thing for his brother to spank him, but it was an entirely more embarrassing and awful thing for him to do it with his trousers pulled down. Before he knew what was happening, Mycroft was unfastening buttons and a zip and tugging Sherlock’s uniform bottoms down to his knees.

Sherlock snapped out of his stupor, “No!” he shouted and tried in vain to shove Mycroft’s hands away.

Mycroft gave him a crisp swat on the seat of his pants. “You shout at me again, dear brother, and I’ll take off my belt and give you a good strapping, too.”

A pathetic whimper was the only response Sherlock could give as he passively allowed Mycroft to slip his pants down over his hips to join his trousers. Being bare in front of his older brother was too humiliating for words, and he anxiously tugged at his button-up to cover the nakedness between his legs. His eyes burned with the beginnings of embarrassed tears.

Mycroft wasted no time in pulling Sherlock across his knees. Sherlock felt extremely small in this vulnerable position. Both his feet and head dangled in the air with his bare bottom perched on display over his brother’s lap.

The sharpness of the first few smacks came as a shock. It had been quite a long time since Sherlock had been spanked. Mycroft would say Mummy spoiled him, but Sherlock liked to think that he was just better behaved – or at least better at pleasing their parents.

Sherlock bucked in response to the quickly growing sting in his behind, gripping the fabric of Mycroft’s pant leg to stop himself from reaching back to block the onslaught. He shrieked when his brother concentrated several burning swats to the backs of his thighs.

Mycroft paused and Sherlock stopped squirming to let his head droop, red-faced and panting.

“I don’t _ever_ want to see you with a cigarette again, Sherlock. _Am. I. Understood?_ ”

The question was punctuated with three more brisk spanks.

“Yes! Yes! I promise! Please!”

Mycroft aimed a few swats to his delicate sit-spots.

“Be glad I didn’t fetch Mummy’s wooden spoon.”

Several more spanks. Sherlock writhed and kicked his legs, the fabric of his trousers and pants slipping down and tangling around his ankles. Mycroft was clearly stretching things out; spanking slowly and lecturing to prolong the humiliating experience for his little brother.

To be fair, it _was_ making an impression. Sherlock felt like a little kid again, getting spanked like a baby on his bare bottom. He had thrown all thoughts of grown-up modesty to the wind as he twisted and shook his hips in an attempt to escape the swats; as if he could shake the sting right off his little reddening bottom. He certainly did not feel cool or mature at the moment, and, quite frankly, he was wishing he’d never laid hands on those bloody cigarettes.

“Next time I see you being so foolish, I _will_ use Mummy’s spoon.”

“I know! I know! Just get on with it!” he snarled.

“You’re in no position to order me around, Sherlock. I’ll decide when you’ve been sufficiently spanked, you little brat. If you’ve still that much impudence left, then perhaps I need to turn it up a notch.”

The swats increased in force and speed and Sherlock howled. He was unable to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. At this point, he felt like nothing more than a foolish, naughty little boy whose big brother really did know best. He was thoroughly repentant, and was mentally swearing to himself that he would never _ever_ touch a cigarette in the future, because he never again wanted his bare bottom to be on the receiving end of Mycroft’s angry palm.

Without losing his rhythm, Mycroft made his final promises regarding the fate of his little brother’s backside, “If I ever catch you with any substance again, Sherlock, I promise I will spank you even longer and harder than this.”

A final two extra hard spanks signaled the end. Sherlock lay limp across Mycroft’s knees, sobbing quietly. His brother rubbed his back and made soothing _shushing_ sounds. Even though his backside was still on fire, the attention felt nice. It was the most he had gotten from Mycroft in ages.

After Sherlock's sobs slowed to sniffles, Mycroft helped him off his lap. The modesty had been spanked right out of him, as he no longer seemed to care that his pants were still around his ankles, focusing instead on rubbing furiously at his scalded bottom.

“I’m still a bit cross with you,” Mycroft warned, “but I think you’ve learned your lesson, brother mine. No more cigarettes!”

Sherlock sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “B-but – ” he hiccupped, “But _you_ smoke.”

Mycroft grimaced, “I know, and I wish I didn’t. It’s a nasty habit. I’m trying to quit, actually. I want you to stay healthy, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I’ll be here all weekend, and I expect you on your best behavior. I also trust you’ll behave yourself from now on even while I’m away?” He raised his eyebrows, giving Sherlock a cautionary look.

Sherlock nodded eagerly.

“Good. Don’t forget, you’ll never be too old for a sound spanking from your big brother.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really can't get over this "Mycroft spanking Sherlock" thing ...


End file.
